


Brave Ori

by in_a_blog_in_the_ground



Series: Brothers Three [8]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_a_blog_in_the_ground/pseuds/in_a_blog_in_the_ground
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori's last stand in Moria...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave Ori

**Author's Note:**

> Was watching LOTR, and I, like EVERBLOODYBODYELSE IN THE FANDOM, was struck by Ori in Moria feels :(

Ori was never a warrior. He had neither Dori’s strength nor Nori’s instincts, but he had their mother’s bravery, and for most of his life, he found that was all he needed.  
Even that was threatening to fail him now.

They came in waves, screeching through the darkness. Every time they were forced back, but every time, more warriors fell. 

Oin had gone west, to seek a way out through the Doors of Durin. He had not returned. 

Now, standing beside Balin’s tomb, sword in hand where normally a quill would be, Ori was scared. At least his tome was still slung across his back. He found its familiar weight comforting.

A sudden ruckus outside the sealed gates. Bleating roars could be heard. The doors began to shake.

“They’ve got a cave troll,” one of the warriors muttered.

It turned out they had three.

Ori swung his sword, and whirled, and fought. He used all the tricks Nori taught him, remembered every encouraging word of Dori’s. The tome on his back caught many a blow, but like the race of dwarves that made it, proved stout and hard to rend. It could not protect all of him, though.

A searing pain in his side caused Ori to gasp and lean over, the sword slipping from his grasp as it suddenly became too heavy to hold up. A sweeping blow knocked his helmet off his head, and as he fell, he had the oddest sense of relief, for the metal cap had been heavy and ill-fitting. It was the last thought he had for some time.

When Ori came to, the battle was over. The doors had been resealed, but Ori could hear movement beyond them. A thumping in the distance. Two of the cave trolls had been felled, if the large lumps in the corners were anything to go by. Strange, Ori was having a hard time seeing them clearly, though his eyes had never had trouble underground before. He stumbled toward the single shaft of light that pierced the darkness. His shuffling feet were caught many times. He wondered why the floor seemed so cluttered. Once he fell and landed heavily on something. “Oh, pardon, Eron,” Ori blurted out impulsively, before noticing the wicked blade sticking out of dead dwarf’s throat, possibly making a reply very difficult. 

Ori scrambled up, and shaking violently, turned to truly look around himself for the first time since awakening. Balin’s tomb had many more occupants than he had last remembered. He became aware of a spreading coldness from his side, and looked down to see his tunic stained with quite a lot of red ink. He didn’t think he had been carrying that much red ink. Of such a dark shade, too. Staggering the last few yards, he reached the shaft of light and looked down at the body of the orc covering Balin’s name. With a sob of fury, and calling upon the last vestiges of strength he didn’t know he had, Ori heaved the carcass into the shadows. He found he could no longer see very far beyond the boundaries of the light. With the sleeve of his cardigan, he wiped Balin’s nameplate clean. Legs failing, he slid down to lean against the cool marble, thinking he’d perhaps keep Mister Balin company for a while longer.

Moving his book into his lap, and ignoring the fact that half the front cover was now missing, he opened it to the last page. For once, he was having a hard time finding words. He needed to do this. When Mister Oin came back, he would need to know what happened. Pulling out his quill, he began writing in short, choppy sentences, using the red ink soaking through his tunic, for there was nothing else.

They have taken the bridge and the second hall. 

Go north instead, Oin.

We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long.

I’m sorry.

The ground shakes, drums… drums in the deep. 

They’re coming back.

We cannot get out. 

Dori. Nori…

A shadow lurks in the dark. 

I am scared.

We cannot get out… they are coming. 

Goodbye.


End file.
